


Bitter Cold

by ImaginAria



Category: Hall Pa$$, Thornville High
Genre: Depression, M/M, mention of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-16 14:30:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4628778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImaginAria/pseuds/ImaginAria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the outside looking in</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bitter Cold

The worst feeling is being on the outside, looking in, and knowing that you could probably walk in out of the cold and they'd smile and greet you warmly, but your own insecurities won't let you turn the doorknob. And aware, as well, that by not coming in you come off as disinterested, even though it's your greatest desire in the world to join in. You always assume you are unwanted. And by making that assumption, it becomes true.

You know this, you feel the monologue running in your head while your nose is pressed to the glowing glass, breath forming fog, which intermediately obscures your vision of the scene inside.

It's a party—officially “holiday” but more “Christmas” despite the diverse attendance. There is a crackling fireplace with a large pot of chestnuts and a few people sitting near it, sipping hot chocolate from enormous porcelain mugs. A gigantically fluffy tree is stuffed in the corner, covered in sparkling tinsel and candy and red-and-green wrapped presents. There is probably one there for you. A table piled high with food is against one wall, and a least a few people haven't moved from there since they arrived. On the floor a group is playing dreidel with chocolate coins, which only works so well because people keep eating them. And not just the people playing.

The biggest culprit is someone to whom your eyes keep flicking back. That's not just because he has a way of keeping attention on him with his loud voice, obnoxious behavior and almost overbearing personality which everyone grudgingly puts up with because of his fantastic sense of humor and his actually really kind heart—but also because, for at least the last year, you have had a huge crush on him. _Swag._

You let a ghost of a smile cross your face, but it disappears as he reminds you of the biggest reason why you aren't ever going to realize that particular dream: his boyfriend, _One_. Official since two weeks ago and, since then, the time you've spent with either of them—your two best friends—has rapidly decreased. You tell yourself it's to give them space and not mess up their relationship, but the truth of the matter is that seeing them together feels like somebody shot you in the chest. Every. Single. Time.

The cold dims the pain now, but even so you don't think you can take it anymore. Maybe you'll just wander around in the cold until you can't feel anything. Maybe you'll just stay out and they'll find you in the morning frozen stiff and nobody will care because who could love you in the first place?

You shiver and spare one last glance for the revelers inside before you turn to go. You don't notice the pair of golden eyes that finds your departing form or the hurried whispered conversation that follows.

You get around halfway down the street before you hear a voice calling your name, followed by “Wait UP you f—king idiot!”

You can tell instantly who it is and you're _really_ not sure you want to talk to him right now since you just walked away from basically stalking his party and the fact that he is here now means he probably knows that but dammit you can't leave him to chase after you in the freezing cold so you pause and turn, but what you see makes you regret stopping because it's not just him coming after you through the snow: it's _them_. Both of them.

But you can't back out now so you stand your ground, pretending you are only shivering from the cold. Maybe that's true.

They catch up to you in a moment and you feel even worse because it's obvious that they are even less prepared for the weather than you are—hell _Swag's_ still wearing those stupid race-car slippers and _One_ didn't even bother to put on a coat (although you're not sure he came to the party with one anyways because you're pretty sure he's immune to temperature changes—and was probably not planning on heading home until morning).

But despite it all, as soon as they come to a stop in front of you, your response is a surly, “What?”

They exchange a short glance before _Swag_ speaks, “Dude, you just ditched my awesome party which you were f—king specifically invited to so that you could wander around in the snow!”

You scuff your toe on the ice and mutter, “I need to do stuff at home.”

“Bulls—t,” he responds immediately, “If you were going home, you would have gone the other way. I've walked to your house enough.”

“What's going on?” _One_ asks softly, and you want to answer, you really do, but there appears to be something stuck in your throat and you just turn away.

“Just...go back to your party or whatever. Leave me alone.” You say, and turn to go, but then _One's_ there blocking your way.

“We're not letting you go until you tell us. We are f—king _thrilled_ to stand out here in this sub-zero hell with you as long as it takes.” _Swag_ says.

They know you too well. You don't care about _you_ standing out here—hell you were planning on doing it anyways—but _Swag's_ nose is starting to turn blue and even if _One_ doesn't feel cold it's f—king _cold_ and that can't be good for him.

So you cross your arms and pointedly don't look at them and huff, “Fine” while they look at you expectantly.

You don't want to tell them anything. Partially because you don't want to embarrass yourself, but more because you _really_ don't want to hurt them. Your brain tries really hard to tell you to just jump past them now, while they aren't worried about that, but first of all, you know that they're probably faster than you _and_ that they probably won't go back in until they've found you and made you say this.

They're still there, though, and _Swag's_ started snuffling so you'd better hurry up and talk.

You're opening your mouth, trying to think of _any_ kind of tactful way to present your situation, when _Swag_ interrupts, “Come on! It's not getting any warmer out here.”

F—k it.

“I can't be around you guys because, honestly, looking at the two of you together _f—king kills me_.”

_Swag_ blinks, “Wha...?”

“You're so damn _happy_ and every time it's like getting smacked in the face with the fact that _I will never be that f—king happy in my life_ and I have to live with watching the two of you have something that I will NEVER have and maybe _you_ don't know what that's like but _you_ do,” you say, referring to _One,_ “And...and it just hurts. All the time. And I know I can't keep it off my face, out of my words or thoughts, and I don't want you to _stop_ being happy but at the same time I _do_ and it's horrible because I'm your f—king _friend_ and friends are never supposed to wish that their very best friend in the whole world would be _less happy_.”

They're both staring at you now, and you're sure, in your heart, that this is the end. They are going to go back inside and forget about stupid you and you are going to go on in the snow and the words just don't stop and oh God you're crying and it's cold enough that your tears are starting to freeze before they make it down your cheeks how are they surviving?

And then _Swag_ steps forward and hugs you, like the two of you used to do all the time back in grade school when that sort of thing was okay, especially when other people weren't looking, but you haven't done in _forever_ because _Swag_ always needed that sort of “cool” facade but even with the ice cold masking everything you can tell he still smells like soap and hair gel and just vaguely of lilacs (which he will deny voraciously if ever asked), and he whispers into your shoulder, “You f—king idiot” but it's not angry—more sad than anything else. And then _One_ is there too, and the only way you can really tell is because he smells like nicotine and metal polish and earth.

For a moment, you all three just stand there in the cold, all bundled together, but then _Swag_ pulls away, “Okay, first, it's really, _really_ , f—king cold out here and my feet are going to fall off if I have to stay out here for a single second more, so you are coming back to the party to get warm because if _I'm_ cold, you've got to be just a solid block of ice by now. And you are staying until the end, and after I kick everyone out of my (awesome) house, we three are having a _discussion_ because that's obviously something that needs to happen and if either of you say anything more about it until my feet are warm I will just scream the word “GAY” at you until you shut up.”

_One_ just rolls his eyes at that, and hooks his arm through yours, “Come on, let's go before he does something stupid.”

Your brain is kind of still in shock at this point, so you sort of let yourself get dragged along by _One_ , and eventually _Swag_ takes your other arm and you're just going along with them in kind of a stupor. Before you know it, you're back at _Swag's_ house and walking in that door into the _heated_ interior of the house with the two of them feels so incredibly nice. They let go of you then, but you can feel _One's_ golden eyes on you, making sure you don't bolt for the door again.

You are pretty sure your plan was to melt into a corner and hide until whatever happened happened, but the two of them, after dumping their wet shoes into a heap, drag you over to the couch, and promptly squash you between the two of them.

Someone at some point hands you a cup of hot chocolate and it is some of the best you've ever tasted, despite the fact that it definitely burns your tongue at first, but you don't care because it's warm and you're warm and hopefully everything is going to be okay.

 


End file.
